"I've heard people aren't getting embalmed and are holding three-day wakes," Gould said as he and Elise walked side by side in the direction of the Savannah Police Department conference room.

It was the day after the exhumation, and Major Hoffman had called an impromptu meeting. Elise was suspicious, because so far nothing had really changed. Except for Harrison 's unconnected death, they were still dealing with one prostitute, maybe two, and insufficient evidence. And the police department was still broke and short of officers.

They missed the elevator. Already late, Elise headed in the direction of the stairs. "Funeral homes are complaining because of the smell and potential health risks."

"When I die," Gould said, jogging up the steps beside her, "be sure to bury me with a bell."

"Not a cell phone?" Elise asked. "I just saw an advertisement for a company claiming to offer crystal clear service six feet under."

"Cell phones are undependable. We need to get back to basics. I want one of those contraptions they sold back in the days when the definition of death was even murkier than it is now. We should think about going into a new business," he told her. "Those are going to be a hot commodity. We won't be able to make them quickly enough. What could you call them? Let's see____________________Death bells. Coffin bells. I like that. Or burial bell. How about burial bell?"

"And the slogan would be 'For whom the burial bell tolls.'"

They were bantering. Gould paused at the fire door and beamed at her as if she'd suddenly given him a long-desired gift. "Exactly."

In the conference room, Elise recognized a couple of agents from the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, Abe Chilton, a woman from the crime lab, plus the local FBI and the press liaison. Starsky and Hutch- or rather Mason and Avery-were also present. But the majority of occupants were uniformed police officers there to be briefed on the TTX case.

Things were just about to get under way, so Elise and David grabbed two empty seats near the door.

"The way I understand it," Major Hoffman told the crowd, "is that TTX poisoning is like having the wrong key in a lock. It blocks the keyhole, so nothing can get through. And because TTX cannot cross the blood-brain barrier, the victim remains conscious while the peripheral nervous system shuts down."

"That sounds like science fiction," Detective Mason commented.

"Simplified, TTX is nothing more than poisoning that puts people in a state of suspended animation," Major Hoffman said. "It mimics death. Reputable doctors have been fooled into thinking a victim is dead."

A beat officer wanted to know about the warning stages. Someone else asked what people could do to protect themselves.

"The most important thing is to be vigilant," Major Hoffman said. "With the recent budget cuts, we're hurting for manpower. This means we need community involvement. Savannah residents have to be our eyes and ears. If someone sees anything in the least suspicious, something that doesn't seem right, he needs to call the police. Same thing goes for police officers. When you're out on patrol, be aware. Keep your eyes open. Trust your gut, and follow up on anything that doesn't seem right."

"Is it true that this stuff is used to make zombies?" Detective Avery asked.

'That is exactly the kind of reaction I want to discourage," Major Hoffman said sternly. "It's my understanding that it's one of the ingredients, along with some less toxic poisons. Something to keep in mind is that in Haiti, zombification is often used as retribution for wrongdoers. It's possible someone is doling out sentences for things he sees as crimes, possibly against himself, possibly against others."

Major Hoffman rolled out a media cart. She popped a tape into the deck, picked up the remote, and turned on the television and VCR.

Gould borrowed Elise's pen and jotted something down on his tablet.

"I just had a visit from the mayor," Hoffman said. "He's extremely concerned with the TTX case and left something I want everybody to see."

It was well known that the mayor of Savannah never commented on crime other than to say that Savannah was no worse than any other city of its size. But now that an election year was coming up, he must have decided it was time to display concern.

The tape rolled.

Poor quality. Something that had been filmed with a bad camera, in a bad public-access studio, with bad equipment.

Elise and David simultaneously let out low groans as they recognized the face on the screen.

Harvey Ostertag, of The Ostertag Show.

The Ostertag Show was filmed in Atlanta on a small budget. One camera. Horrid lighting. Crappy microphones that produced muffled voices. It was both embarrassing and mesmerizing as only awful TV could be.

"As promised," Ostertag announced, "here are Katie Johnson, Twila Jackson, and Mercury Hernandez, all the way from Savannah, Georgia."

The girls moved into position. Two twirled a thick, heavy rope while the third jumped. All three chanted in unison:

Draw a circle on the floor Whisper secret words The city sleeps The mayor weeps Speak the final dirge.

Aha. No wonder the mayor had taken a sudden interest in the TTX case, Elise thought. The camera closed in on the host. "Mysterious ditties like the one you just heard have been popping up all over Savannah," Ostertag said. "Some people have compared these to nursery rhymes. But others claim they bear a striking resemblance to the meter used in spells. In black magic. One theory is that by the repetitious chanting of these spells, children are unknowingly calling forth the powers of evil upon an unsuspecting city."

Major Hoffman shut off the VCR. "Lovely, isn't it? We're accustomed to being ridiculed by the media," she said, "but I think ridicule on The Ostertag Show is a new low."

Elise pulled Gould's tablet close and read the question he'd written earlier: Are we going to watch porn?

He ripped the paper from the spiral and wadded it up, making a great deal of noise.

"Mr. Gould," Major Hoffman said. "Since you've played a fairly passive role in this meeting, perhaps you'd like to share some of your feelings about the case."

Christ. He was iff third grade all over again. Is there something you'd like to share with the class, David?

A titter moved through the crowd. Several people twisted around to give David smug smiles. Starsky and Hutch were grinning with evil delight.

Oh, this place was its own vicious small town, David thought. Half the people in the room were salivating.

"Actually, I've had some profiling experience," David said calmly.

Hutch let out a snort. Major Hoffman looked his direction; he turned the snort into a cough. "I'd like to hear what Detective Gould has to say," Major Hoffman said. "For the sake of discussion, let's assume these deaths are murder, all by the same hand."

David wasn't thrilled at being put on the spot. On the other hand, he knew his stuff and wasn't afraid to brainstorm and theorize. "For starters," he said, leaning back in his chair, "the killer is an egomaniac."

Starsky and Hutch looked at him with annoyance. If they weren't in such good company, David was sure they would have had some sarcastic comment like, "Tell us something we don't know."

"He sees himself almost as a puppeteer, someone controlling the show," David continued. "Many people kill out of self-hatred and a lack of confidence. This person is killing because he thinks it's his right. He probably doesn't even consider the victims as people."

"Could he be doing it for his own amusement?' Elise wondered aloud. "Simply from boredom? Otherwise, why doesn't he kill them outright? I don't get it."

"Some derive sexual pleasure from torture," someone offered.

"But where's the pleasure if they're comatose?" Elise asked. "Wouldn't it come from hearing them scream? From watching their suffering faces? These people can't respond in any way."

"He's getting off on their inability to respond," David said.

"That could be the key," Elise said thoughtfully. "He may have experienced a time in his life when he was unable to defend himself." Her gaze cleared as her idea solidified. "Possibly at the hands of an adult figure." She leaned forward. "Think about the way siblings will pass various childhood cruelties down the line."

"This is a little more than a childhood cruelty," Major Hoffman pointed out.

"Of course, but the principle is the same," David said. "The logic, or lack of logic, behind it is the same. They are passing the sin, that sin growing from one person to the next."

His comment was followed by a long communal silence.

"That makes sense," Elise finally said.

"What do you think about age? Race? Occupation? Education?" Those questions came from Starsky.

"I'm unsure about race, but I feel he's highly intelligent and fairly well educated, although he may have stopped short of receiving a degree. Possibly successful within his field of expertise. Age, somewhere between twenty and thirty-five. He's probably harbored a hatred of humanity for years, possibly since childhood."

"Hatred combined with ego is a dangerous combination," Elise said.

"Thank you very much, Detective Gould," Major Hoffman said with a gracious smile. "My grandmother would have said you've been hiding your light under a basket."

David found her praise in front of Starsky and Hutch to be extremely gratifying.

"I'd like a copy of your profile on my desk ASAP," the major added.

Which meant he would have to actually type one up. David hated reports. He hated typing.

"Detectives Avery and Mason." Starsky and Hutch gave Major Hoffman their attention.

"I'm putting you both on the TTX case on a part-time, as-needed basis. I want you to assist Detectives Sandburg and Gould in any manner they see fit."

David looked at Elise in dismay. Starsky and Hutch looked at each other in dismay.

Oh, boy. Just one big, happy, dysfunctional family.